


Hickey

by BruceChickinson



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruceChickinson/pseuds/BruceChickinson
Summary: Sanji hated the stupid hickey and the green-haired idiot who left it there.





	Hickey

On the first day, he _loved_ the hickey .... I mean, the act that caused such mark, because he was still not aware of the hickey’s existence. Zoro traced the length of his neck with his wet mouth, leaving traces of saliva as he laid kisses down every inch of pale skin. He kissed his prominent Adam's apple and clutched the nearest flesh to suck between his lips. Suction cleared any thought in his head and Sanji completely forgot that it would definitely leave a mark.

 

On the second day, he got a fright and became as red as the hickey that now lied on his neck. He sighed and cursed loudly, his swearing echoing in the lonely apartment. That Marimo could not get through a fucking night without leaving a _hateful_ mark. Sometimes it was not the even the bastard’s fault, but his impeccably white skin’s, which insisted on getting marked by any mere pressure. But this time he knew it was not for nothing, his body still insisted on reacting positively to the memory of the idiot's voracious mouth in his throat last night. Zoro was lucky enough to go to work early; otherwise his “good morning” would have been a nice kick in the mouth. Thankfully, they could only see each other once a week, otherwise Sanji’d walk around every day looking like he’d been beaten up if it were up to the idiot. The bruise was sore and he looked at the mark in the mirror for a while, as if he could remove it by staring at it. Tomorrow he would need to be at the restaurant, so he decided to look some removal methods up on the internet. The first one he came upon was called ‘speed healing’ and step one was “Stop using tobacco products”. He rolled his eyes and closed his laptop, barely having read half of the paragraph which bashed his smoking habit. He tried to look at it from several different angles throughout the day, walking in the bathroom every time he passed by it to take a look at the mirror, a smile escaping in the corner of his mouth when he saw the contrast of the red mark on his snowy skin. In the end, he settled, deciding to leave the mark be. “Yeah…it doesn’t look so bad…”

 

On the third day, he definitely _hated_ the hickey. He woke up late, got dressed sloppily, and barely arrived in time to start breakfast preparations at Baratie. He couldn’t stand being late, he always boasted of his impeccable punctuality, and even more he loathed appearing in public looking sloppy, which to him meant any state below perfect. But the morning shifts were always the most difficult for the chef, who almost always spent the night awake and slept through the day. He arrived breathless in the kitchen and quickly took his place at his station, graciously performing his morning chores. He felt the stares piercing his body and cursed himself again for being late. The hours passed and the eyes seemed to continue to chase after him, the giggles reaching his ears. Then, in a mocking tone, Carne asked if he had a good weekend. Oh. He abruptly reached for the first empty frying pan he found and glanced at his neck in the gleaming steel. It had taken on a horrible color. A gruesome purple that made it look like a huge chubby cockroach lying on his neck. Sanji spent the day in the kitchen, which was out of character of him. Usually he liked to go to the salon, like the sociable butterfly he is, but because of the hideous mark he dismissed the conversations with the clients and the flirtations with the maidens. From time to time, he twisted his neck to take a look at his horribly marked skin at each mirrored object, cursing softly the green-haired idiot guilty of it. On that day he ignored all of Zoro's messages as silent punishment.

 

On the fourth day, the hickey bothered him less. That's because Sanji wore a turtleneck for work in order to avoid giggling and unnecessary comments. He touched the mark compulsively and felt the ache in the muscle still. The pain was a reminder of the mark still being there, and he still felt _hatred_ towards it. The stupid mark made him think about the idiot and he felt stupid for thinking of the idiot. But he still sent a message asking how was his day going.

 

On the fifth day the hickey decided to irritate him no further. The color improved, the purple dissolved into a smoother blue and less “I suffered domestic aggression”, the pain almost nonexistent. He would catch himself lowering his collar to look at the mark with a certain frequency, as if to make sure it was still there, stuck to his skin like a silent affirmation of possession and _hatred_.

 

On the sixth day, he breathed a sigh of relief as the mark started saying goodbye, turning yellowish. He still _hated_ it, though. The coloring was an unhealthy mixture of yellow and green that stained his perfectly pale skin. Sanji continued to touch it repeatedly during the day, although there was no sign of the pain. He exchanged messages with Zoro all night, but he still ignored his calls.

 

On the seventh day, the hickey had completely disappeared. But Sanji still groped for the mark. God, he _hated_ it so much. Or rather, he hated himself for hating its absence. How the hell can anyone miss something so inconvenient, annoying, and downright infuriating? And he laughed nervously to think that it was exactly his relationship with the exasperating man with whom he had been sharing his bed for a few months. Perhaps that was the reason he was resenting and flaunting his possessive mark on his neck at the same time.

His shift ended early and he finally stopped ignoring Zoro's calls, so they returned to their usual dynamics of laughing, flirting and insulting each other. On the subway, on the way to his apartment, they were still on the same call. Zoro was utterly annoying and had teased him the whole time.

 

"You're unbearable, you know that?" Sanji sighed dramatically.

 

"You know what is it?" Zoro asked in a playful manner.

 

"Hn" Sanji was curious about the answer, but he did not want to take the bait completely.

 

The phone was mute for a few seconds and Sanji almost broke the silence, when Zoro finally uttered it in a nervous tone:

 

"I _hate_ you. Except, it’s the opposite. I think...it's easier this way"

 

"I guess so. And I… _hate_ you too."

 

On the eighth day, he inconsequently let Zoro capture the skin of his throat with his teeth once more. And during the week he would certainly _hate_ the mark and its author. Except, it was the opposite.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any corrections to make on my english, be welcomed to do so (please be gentle) and if you liked the story please tell me <3  
> Thanks for reading (:


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